By: Francine Witte
I pass Stone Girl on my way home from Harry’s. She is static and gray in all this lushi-ness.
If Stone Girl could see, she would have to admit that she is the statue, even though it’s true I can’t move.
If Stone Girl could hear, she would hear her friends warn her – What good is love that isn’t love?
It’s true I didn’t listen, but at least I heard.
If Stone Girl could talk back or move or even wise up for once, she would tell Harry to get his sorry ass to the back of the line.
The trees are heavy all around Stone Girl. I could stand here and stand here till the green falls out. I could turn into a statue, like the heart inside me already is, which beats so quiet, almost no one can hear.
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